


He Who Makes a Beast Out of Himself...

by Bluespartan114



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Climbing Class, Everyone Is Alive, Excessive Swearing, Fix-It, M/M, Mental Illness, Slow Burn, Wendigo!Josh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluespartan114/pseuds/Bluespartan114
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How things SHOULD have gone.</p>
<p>Chris wouldn't leave his best friend--the guy he loved more than anything--tied up, alone, in a fucking shed. It didn't matter how angry he was, Josh didn't deserve that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While I loved the game, I didn't particularly care for how Josh's story-arc ended, so this is my attempt to fix it. Also climbing class because I'm trash.
> 
> It's also a bit of an exercise for me as a writer, so critiques are welcome.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: bluespartan114

It was the gun that did it.

Chris’s heart sank so far when he saw it in Mike’s hand. Where did he even _get_ the damn thing? 

Everyone was yelling—Christ, he’d had more than enough yelling for one night. The way Mike’s face twisted, though, the way his fingers curled around the grip...he was going to do something stupid. 

“Mike, he’s sick.” He had to try. No one else was going to. “He’s definitely off his meds.” They’d all been through so much tonight. Why was Mike going to make things worse?

That little flicker on Josh’s face—Chris hadn’t meant to say it the way he did, so dismissive, like it didn’t really matter. The adrenaline was still hardcore pounding in his ears; he was lucky he could form a coherent sentence. Not that it was an excuse. He’d have to apologize later. If there was a later.

Sam started over near the door. She looked like she wanted to say something, to back up what he was saying with confirmation, or even just to have another voice in the fray. A sane voice. A reasonable voice. At the same time, she looked like it wasn’t supposed to be any of her business, like she stumbled upon something she wasn’t sure she was supposed to know. That finger she had raised shut down just as quickly as her opened mouth.

Sam wasn’t one to air a person’s dirty laundry. Chris was on his own.

Then Mike dropped the bomb: “Jessica is fucking dead.”

Josh’s dark face went pale, even in the dim lighting. His green eyes, just a little out of focus, collapsed. The rest of the room echoed the sentiment. Silence stretched taut, ready to snap at the slightest breath. “What?” he wheezed, sounding like someone stabbed a balloon with a pair of scissors. 

Maybe Mike thought he was still putting on an act. Maybe Mike didn’t want to believe the asshole that just put them through a night as terrifying as the night Beth and Hannah went missing. Whatever the reasoning was, it seemed like he was finally ready to take charge and no one would stand in his way. “Did you hear me?” Apparently the blood boiling in Mike’s ears made him hard of hearing, ignoring Josh’s response like that. The way he came around on Josh, Chris was hoping—Christ, he should have known better—he was hoping that Mike was just going to close the distance so he could condescendingly hear better. “Jessica is dead and _you’re going to fucking pay, you dick_!” 

Chris was on his feet before Josh hit the ground. He should have known. Fuck. He knew better. What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he do something earlier?

“Mike, what the hell?” Sam crouched next to Josh’s prone body, staring up at the man that just pistol-whipped their supposed best friend. Her slender fingers gently touched Josh’s face, searching for signs that he was okay. 

Chris was grateful.

Mike’s eyes were glassy. His chest heaved with each breath, mouth parted to properly handle the air. The gun was still raised to his shoulder.

If Mike hadn’t pulled that fucking gun, maybe they wouldn’t have ended up in their later situation.

But he had.

Balling his fists by his sides, Chris had to focus on his own oxygen intake as he knelt next to Sam. Ashley turned away like she hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. No. That wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to watching any more conflicts—especially between friends. She’d had enough for one night. His pulse pounded in his ears. A sea of red swam before his vision. His gut clenched. Why were his arms tingling?

Sam was already rousing Josh. His eyelashes fluttered even as he made weird noises in the back of his throat. 

It wasn’t really an obvious thing, but Chris was a lot larger than he looked. So when he finally decided to round on Mike, the taller man actually took a step back. His finger was off the trigger, holding his hands up in surrender, still clutching that piece of shit tight. “What. The. Fuck?” It was a growl, low and dangerous out of Chris’s mouth.

“Sorry, man, I—” Mike took a breath through his nose. Good, he was starting to calm down. Starting to regain his senses. “I just—”

“Josh is sick.” How was he keeping his voice so steady and calm? Why was Mike taking another step back? Chris was pretty sure his teeth were bared. What a spectacle he must have made. “You don’t help sick people by hitting them in the fucking face!” His cheeks were warm, sporting a lovely shade of spotty red. His arm flexed like it was going to straight up deck the other guy. Somehow it didn’t.

“Yeah—yeah—” Mike knew he screwed up. He rubbed at the back of his neck, finally lowering the weapon. “Look: how about we just…let’s tie him up in the shed. When the storm’s over, we’ll call the police and let them—” his eyes darted to the stirring form on the ground, “we’ll let the police handle it.”

“The shed?” Ashley finally spoke up, still not looking at them. “It’s twelve degrees outside, Mike!” Angry. Hurt. Not heartless.

Mike was gesticulating with that piece of metal. Chris wanted to rip it out of his hands and shove it down his throat. “I don’t want that motherfucker anywhere near me. Meds or no, that psychopath killed Jessica.”

“So we’ll tie him up in the basement.” That was her suggestion. 

Why? Why was everyone so interested in tying Josh up? In some ways it painted a beautiful picture, but…Chris needed to stop thinking about that before he got distracted. Getting Josh out of this situation took priority over anything his imagination wanted. 

“I-I’m sorry, lemme reiterate: I don’t want him anywhere. Near. Me. After the night he put us through, it’s the least he deserves.”

A wave of protectiveness washed over Chris. If left to his own devices Mike would kill Josh. Then Chris would kill Mike and the cycle of bloodshed just wouldn’t end. Chris had to get Josh away. Keep him safe. “Fine.”

Everyone looked at him with open mouths. Which, given his previous display, Chris couldn’t blame them. 

Mike nodded, a weird kind of relief washing over his face. He took a deep breath, like he was steadying himself for something he didn’t really want to do. “Alright. Alright. I’ll find some rope.”

Josh was still focusing on regaining his motor functions as Sam helped him up. He jerked and shouted in pain when Mike reached around and yanked his hands behind his back. “What are you…? Ow!”

“Hold still, jackass.”

“Dude! What’re you doing?”

Mike was damn near out of breath when he finally decided to answer. “Making sure you can’t hurt anybody else.”

“But I didn’t—” He was abruptly shut up by a sharp tug on the rope holding his arms. The girls looked away. “I didn’t hurt anyone!” Ashley definitely did not raise a hand to her black eye.

“Shut up. You’re coming with me.” Mike started pulling the stumbling, shambling mess of a man behind him. 

“I’m coming with.” The words were out of his mouth so fast that Munroe didn’t have time to argue. He just gaped like a fish and then finally nodded. 

It wasn’t like he would be able to stop Chris. 

They walked in silence, snow crunching ominously beneath their feet. Occasionally the snap of a twig or the echo of an animal would startle them to halt. Josh had long since given up protesting his innocence and Chris found himself wishing he would start up again—anything to distract him from the rage chomping at the bit just below the surface. Or the psychosomatic terror that something was watching them. Following them. Waiting.

He watched the way that Mike handled the other man. It was more than the blonde could stand. So when they finally had Josh tied up to Mike’s satisfaction, Chris was waiting for him to leave. While he waited, he picked up and toyed with a plank of wood; something to distract him once more.

But apparently Josh wanted a little say-so. “Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike.” He continued until the taller man finally acknowledged him. “What happened with Jess, Mike?” Josh was focused so intently on the other man that it was as though nothing else existed.

He sighed; he might as well be talking to a child. “You know what happened.”

“No…no…I—I don’t…I got a problem, Mike. I don’t remember killing Jess.”

The look Mike shot Chris clearly read: _can you believe this asshole_? “Christ,” he said aloud, ready to dismiss Josh as a raving lunatic.  
The blonde continued staring straight ahead. Shoulders back, entire body rigid.

“I mean, like, I feel like I—I would remember killing her, yanno? She’s so—”

Chris thought he saw the change before Josh even realized it was happening. His moment of lucidity was gone. Replaced by something else…something potentially dangerous—the genius that orchestrated the entire evening. Apparently they’d had enough of their vessel being antagonized. He grinned, a terrifying glint taking up residence in his eyes. “She’s so soft…” Even his entire voice changed; it was patronizing, teasing… _daring_. “…and she’s probably got, like, a really tight bod…”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Mike finally snapped.

Mike pulled that fucking gun and pointed it at his best friends’ head. 

Some part of Chris tried to shut down and rationalize before _he_ did something stupid.

Regardless of the stupid shit Josh did that night—Chris couldn’t even bring himself to finish that sentence. He felt like an idiot trying to even conceive the fact that Josh didn’t deserve to have a gun pointed at him. At least a little. 

He did. Jesus fucking Christ he deserved it.

Imagining it and seeing it were two completely different scenarios, however.

Chris clenched the plank of wood tight in his hands. He felt splinters make themselves a new home in the tender flesh of his palm. The muscles in his bicep twitched of their own accord, well ahead of his brain. That protective instinct was flaring up again, full fucking monty.

It was the look on Mike’s face that clinched his decision. There was just something about the smugness, the taut decisiveness, that made Chris’s brain go blank.  
He swung before he thought about it.

Now, if he _had_ thought about it, maybe he would have swung for the gun itself instead of Mike’s wrist. The finger wrapped around the trigger could have spelled certain doom for the very man he was trying to protect.

Actually, either way, there’s a good chance he could have made Mike pull the trigger. 

Mike must not have been all that serious because the weapon clattered harmlessly to the ground.

A collective sigh of relief blew through the room. Even Josh, in his current state, knew what it could have meant if Chris wasn’t there.

Even Chris being there could have just spelled certain doom. 

The surprised look of incredulity made Chris freeze for a moment. He didn’t regret the action itself—he was protecting Josh. It was a satisfying action without exacerbating their current situation any more than it already was. Hell, if he had his way he’d be beating Mike’s face in for even _touching_ his best friend.

As it were, no one actually expected Chris to go through with something like that. 

The air in the shed got thicker with every passing second. An animal scream ripped up from the forest. They tensed, but it faded just as quickly as it came. Just a deer. Even so, it reminded Chris that something needed to be done. “Let’s not make this worse.” The warning was there, clear as day, but somehow Mike missed the severity hidden not so well in the tone of the words. 

Mike rubbed his wrist, sincerely hoping there weren’t any splinters lodged in there. He was torn between choking Chris or beating the shit out of him…but in the end he just let out a deep breath.

After everything with Jessica…the Saw shit in the basement…Chris was actually right. And he told him so. That wouldn’t stop him from wanting to exact a little revenge, though. He was determined to get _something_ over on the little shit babbling in front of him. “Why don’t you regroup with the others at the lodge? I’ll stay here with this jackass until morning.” Mike jerked a thumb in the general direction of their friend. He hoped his face was blankly innocent.

Charisma check failed. Mike wasn’t the smartest sometimes, was he? Chris frowned and shook his head. He didn’t even need the twisted piece of metal lying six feet away to serve as a reminder. “Nah, man. I’ll stay. Josh is—Josh’s still my bro. I’ll look after him.” If Mike didn’t leave soon there was going to be trouble.

“Oh, a sleepover? Can we order _pete-za_?”

Chris pointed a finger at Josh, trying to keep his attention focused on Mike…just in case. “You’re not helping.” Christ, what happened to them all?

His hands were shaking—why were his hands shaking? His gaze shifted from Mike to the ground, a million ‘what-ifs’ dancing before his eyes. That and exactly two-point-seven gazillion questions.

And now there was Josh, obeying his orders, staring blankly ahead, his body jolting alive every now and again, like an electrical surge was coursing through his body. It was like he forgot everyone else was around. Or even, hell, the gravity of the situation he was in. Josh was trapped somewhere in that head of his, a scary place even at the best of times.

Maybe that was for the better.

Mike hesitated. It was brief, but Chris saw the flash of anger and hostility that sparked when he laid eyes on Josh.

Chris felt his hackles start to rise. Overreaction? No, all things considered. Then again, all things considered, if he didn’t stand up for Josh at his low—who would?

Shit, he’d been doing it for years. Ever since…well, Chris didn’t like to think about it. Josh hadn’t come away from the situation quite right. It was where the nickname ‘Cochise’ came from and while Chris was extremely fond of it (and Josh usually only used it when he was trying to sweet-talk Chris) the name tended to dredge up some bad memories. 

And then February 2nd happened. 

No one else—except _maybe_ Sam—saw Josh after his sisters went missing. Like _really_ saw. And it wasn’t just the tears, the haunted, empty looks, either.  
The late nights because Josh was too afraid to sleep.

The countless waiting rooms of countless psychiatrists, because his parents would rather pay to have him doped up and out of their way than be supportive and actually _around_.

Pharmacies. Prescriptions. More so than usual; as if Josh already didn’t have enough problems…Chris had been there to pick up the pieces after…after a misunderstanding led to a suicide attempt. Even after that, Josh’s doctor insisted on keeping him sedated with a cocktail of pills.

It was okay for a while. Then his sisters went missing and Josh did an absolute one-eighty after that night.

For a while, Chris thought he lost his best friend. Hell, he did—only for a couple of days. But regardless, he stuck with him. Josh was more than a best friend to Chris…the blonde just had zero idea how to tell him.

So he showed him.

How many nights had he lain awake, holding Josh after a nightmare? Comforting him, swearing he wasn’t going to leave, too? Reminding him to take his medication? Rushing over at three in the morning because Josh was _convinced_ his sisters were accusing him from under the bed. That this was somehow all his fault? Survivors guilt, Chris could rationalize. Dealing with it was something else. 

How many times did he have to repeat the phrase ‘I’m not going anywhere’ when Josh insisted he wasn’t worth the trouble?

Too many. And Chris always insisted he _was_ worth the trouble—therefore it was no trouble at all. That Josh meant everything to him. If Josh ever picked up on the hints there, he never said anything. 

Chris shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets, trying to come back to reality. “I got this,” he repeated firmly, hoping Mike just shut up and take the hint. “You…better get back before they think something else is wrong.” Yeah, use the women and play the helpless card. Real mature, Chris. 

Opening his mouth, Mike quickly shut it again. Maybe he saw the grim line in Chris’ jaw, or the hardened glint behind corrective lenses. Or maybe he realized that Chris was just plain right. Either way, he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright. I got you. But, uh, here—” he bent down and picked up the handgun, “keep this. Just—” Mike glanced between Josh and the open doors, “just in case.”

Chris’s hand was still shaking as he took the gun. There was absolutely no danger to speak of but…it kept the damn thing away from Mike. With grim determination Chris thumbed the safety on and jammed it into the waistband of his jeans, nestled tightly into the small of his back. 

Throwing one more disgusted look in Josh’s direction, Mike left. 

It seemed to take forever for the crunching footsteps to disappear. When they were gone an eerie silence settled over the barn—shed—whatever the _fuck_ they were in. A cold breeze blew through and Chris promptly slammed the heavy doors shut; probably a little more forceful than necessary, but it happened. 

Anger flushed out through his feet and puddle on the ground. His legs felt like jelly now. He wanted nothing more than to collapse against the doors and sink to the floor. He just wanted to feel some kind of solidarity.

He didn’t. Hands still pressed against the doors, Chris hung his head and sighed. He still had to be strong. Josh needed him. He couldn’t afford to fall apart. 

“You’re mad at me, aren’tcha?”

The words were so soft the blonde wasn’t sure he heard them. It was only when he turned and found Josh’s eyes zeroed in on him did the sounds really sink in. And the realization that Josh was safe. Josh was here.

A bark of harried laughter flew from his mouth before he could stop it. “Mad? Mad?” Chris stepped closer, holding the brunette’s unflinching gaze. “Josh, I am _fucking furious_!” He threw his hands in the air. “How the _fuck_ am I supposed to feel right now?” Heart hammering in his chest, Chris’s hands fell to his sides with a muffled thud. His voice was much louder than he intended. Shit, he was yelling and he didn’t mean to. 

Chris carded a hand through his hair. It was the stress. Just the stress of the entire night. 

“It was just a prank,” the other man muttered, finally breaking eye contact. His entire body deflated more with every passing second until the wooden beam behind him was the only thing keeping him upright. Was he pouting? Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, a thought seemed to occur Josh: “I went easy on you!” 

“My head says different, bro.” Absently pointing to the large lump just hanging out, Chris crouched down, just below eye-level with Josh. “I get—I mean, I _kind of_ understand why you did it. A little extreme—” he glanced at the stab-wound in the other man’s shoulder, resisting the urge to touch it, “okay, a _lot_ extreme, but I get it. And I’ve just got one question.”

A wide grin split his face. His eyes lit up like emeralds. “You wanna know how I did it?”

Chris shook his head furiously. God he sounded so _hopeful_. He was trying so hard not to make Josh feel any worse. That would be the opposite of helping. “Nah, dude. I wanna know…” Chris took a deep breath because, seriously, he really wanted to explode. “I wanna know why the hell I was even involved in this!”

Josh cocked his head to the side like he didn’t understand the question.

“Dude, you don’t remember playing kings? We were hammered before midnight! Passed out on kitchen counter. Why—why did I have to go through this? I mean, shit, I know you remember! We saw the dollhouse.”

By “being involved,” he was referring specifically to the choice he had to make between Ashley and Josh. 

The giant fucking saw. 

His best friend and the girl—the girl Josh _assumed_ he had a crush on. 

Ashley was nice and all, but she wasn’t _Josh_. How could he even think to choose her over the man before him? Hell, how could Josh begin to think that? Especially after everything they’d been through. 

Everything else that happened he could have handled, no problem-o.

Josh hung his head. Whatever act he’d been putting on when Mike had been there was gone. He was focused, clear-headed. That…psycho thing buried deep beneath the surface.

Chris reached up, gently touching Josh’s cheek. “Why, man?”

“Too obvious,” he finally mumbled, not looking up. “If I left you out they’d get suspicious.”

A short snort escaped his nose. “Dude, you made me think I _killed_ you. That I killed the one person that—” Whoops. Almost let the cat out of the bag. He shook his head, changing tracks. “How was that ‘going easy’ on me?” He tried to get Josh to look at him, but the other man pulled his head away, shifting against the uncomfortable bonds. 

While he waited for an answer, Chris got to his feet. The knot Mike tied was an easy one, and if Josh had been more focused it would have been easy for him to undo them. As it were, after a few tugs the other man was slowly rubbing circulation and warmth back into his hands. 

There was that false smile. The one that Josh always pulled when he was trying to convince someone of something. Usually it worked—just not on Chris. “Was trying to get you in good with Ashley, man. What’s more sexy than making the ultimate…sacrifice for her?” Suddenly his eyes lit up, and he searched Chris’s face imploringly for answers. “Did it work? Did you finally get into the Bone Zone?”

Chris rolled his eyes, smiling sadly. Fondly, but sadly. “No, sorry. Other circumstances were slightly more _pressing_.” Shaking his head, Chris plopped down on the cold dirt. His legs weren’t willing to support him anymore. And he was tired. So tired. “Besides—what makes you think I would choose Ashley over you? Isn’t that—isn’t that my decision to make?”

Josh stuffed his arms into the over-sized overalls. Without gloves, it was warmer in there than outside. Just not by much. “I thought you liked her, bro?” He came to sit beside Chris, albeit a little awkwardly because of his entangled arms. Josh wound up knocking into the blonde. 

Nudging him back, Chris huffed. “Not in the way you seem to think, _bro_.”

“Wait, what? Since when?”

“Since—” _Always_ , he wanted to say. _I’ve only ever had eyes for you_ , was the desperate follow-up. “She’s just not my type, man.”

Oh boy, the conversation was bound to take an awkward turn. Chris’s brain was so fried he was struggling not to blurt out the wrong thing.  
“C’mon—she’s _perfect_. Just as nerdy as you.”

“I don’t recall her ever staying up with me until dawn to play video games,” he shot back before he thought about it. 

“Of course not. I’m just _awesome_.”

A short laugh. “I know you are, man.”

Josh chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Was it…really that hard?”

“Hm?” Chris had drifted off a little, enjoying the warmth that seemed to radiate from the other man. He found himself leaning closer, resisting the urge to rest his head on the others’ shoulder.

“The—the saw…thing. Was it really that tough of a choice?”

Chris hesitated. There were so many different ways this conversation could go wrong. “No. No, it wasn’t tough.”  
“Oh…”

“I’d choose you again and again.”

Josh’s head shot up. “What?” He clearly thought Chris was bullshitting him.

Chris playfully punched him in the shoulder. “If you hadn’t _rigged_ the fucking thing you would have seen—”

“You were gonna save me?”

“Duh.”

“Why?” Chris remained silent. Answering that question would probably lead to a lifetime of humiliation. “You know…if I hadn’t rigged it the way I did, she’d be dead.”

“Shut up. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

He knew he shouldn’t say the words that came to mind. So he went with something…softer. Not explicit, but enough truth was there that maybe Josh would get the idea and Chris would finally feel like he’d done something right. Josh deserved that much. Deserved to know that someone cared like that. “I didn’t wanna pick Ashley, dude.”

“Little gay, bro.”

“A lot gay, bro.”

“I—what?”

“Dude, don’t make me repeat it. I’m embarrassed enough.”

“What, of me?”

“No!” Chris turned so he was finally facing the other man. The hopeful hurt that was in his eyes was too much to bear. Chris cupped Josh’s face. Slowly, slowly he leaned in, almost too terrified to think about what he was doing. Still, he gathered all his courage and gently pressed his lips to Josh’s. It was brief, the damage done. He pulled away and rested their foreheads together. “I could never be embarrassed of you.” He kept his eyes closed. God, he didn’t want to look and see what an ass he made of himself. 

But then there were fingers tangled in his hair and his glasses were askew on his face.

But there were fireworks behind his eyes and a thundering in his heart. 

Josh was kissing him. Pushing against him. 

He was on his back, Josh straddling his waist. That fucking gun was digging into his spine, but he couldn’t care less. It should have been awkward, but the way Josh held onto him, the way their lips moved together, like they always should have been…in that moment everything else was lost. 

They could see their breath when they pulled away, panting just a little. Meadow green locked into an icy blue. Nothing around them matter. Nothing around them existed.

They were so lost, they didn’t hear the inhuman shriek from the roof.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things slowly start going downhill. Into the mines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind words and kudos! To be honest, this is the most I've ever written for a fic, and the easiest it's ever been to update. Let's hope I can keep it up, yeah?

“What’s taking them so long? I don’t like this.” Ashley stomped one foot anxiously. 

If Sam didn’t know any better, she’d assume Ash was pouting. She was so focused on staring out the window into the swirling white abyss outside that she didn’t hear Sam sneak up on her. Ashley jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’ll be back soon,” was the half-assed reassurance. Sam tried to smile; it was tight, unconvincing. They’d all been through enough hell. Excess worrying wasn’t going to do them any good. The culprit was found. Being…dealt with.

Sam swallowed, guilt a tight knot in her belly. After everything she saw in the basement…Chris was absolutely right. Josh _was_ sick. And she didn’t do a damn thing to help. What kind of friend was she? She knew they deserved it. They all deserved what happened tonight. Josh was getting the revenge that his sisters never…that they deserved.

“Are they—you don’t think they’d actually just leave Josh…do you?” Wrapping her arms around herself, Ashley turned back to the window. Her reflection couldn’t be seen in the dark, but it was probably not a happy one.

Sam considered for a moment. They way she was feeling right now…hell, she’d probably leave Josh’s ass to freeze—at least for a bit. But that was nothing compared to what he—they’d done to each other over the past year. _Way to go, Sam. Now you’re no better than they are._ “Mike might,” she sighed, thinking about the gun. “But Chris wouldn’t,” she added when Ashley balked

But how hard would Mike push? Sure, they were all a little upset, a little stressed, but that gun in his hand made her nervous. Like, really nervous. And what if Jess really _was_ dead? That just gave Mike more of a reason…no. She needed to stop thinking like that. They weren’t _animals_. There was no way Sam believed Josh killed her, not even for a second. Then again, Mike wasn’t a liar. God, what a fucking mess. 

She found herself straining her ears, listening, hoping she wouldn’t have to hear the echo of a gunshot.

“Sam—what’s that?”

The blonde stepped up beside her friend, trying to see out of the pulled blinds. Through the haze of the snowstorm they could just barely make out a blobby, black figure heading their way. The shape was scattered, thrashing around like it was caught in a trap. It was—was that someone running? It was hard to tell, even with the stark shadow sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the swirling dance of snow. Thankfully the static image grew clearer the nearer it came.

“That’s Emily!” Ashley’s fingers gripped her arm to the point of pain. Sam grimaced and tried to unhook her. Then the screaming was heard. Not the steady, low hum of something on the horizon. No, this was somebody getting murdered-type screaming. Ashley let go and went for the door. A blast of cold arm hit her square in the face as Ashley swung the door open. 

Emily’s foot caught on the top step. She cried out and _thunked_ to the ground. Before the other women could reach her, Emily was on her hands and knees, crawling, scrambling, and begging them to shut the door. Once inside, she fell into a heap, hiding her relieved sobs in the crook of her elbow.

“Emily, what happened? Where’s Matt?” Ashley and Sam were on either side, talking nonstop while they picked her up. They were so wrapped up in their own interrogation that neither of them heard Emily’s stuttering attempts at answering.

She continued trying to get a word in edgewise as they helped her to the couch. When she was sure there was nothing below her but safe, comfortable furniture, Emily felt a little more in control. More like herself. “Will you two shut up and let me talk?” she finally raged. Both girls immediately fell silent. “I am _trying_ to tell you that there’s a _freaking monster_ out there!”

“No. No, Emily, it was Josh—it was all Josh—” Sam’s stupidly comforting hand on her shoulder was really irritating. She shrugged it off. Harshly.

“He can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Ashley, smartly, kept her hands to herself.

“No! You’re not listening!” Emily almost tugged her hair out trying to get the two women beside her to stop talking for five seconds. “Something chased me in the mines. And it _wasn’t human_.” She curled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees. It was horrible just thinking about it.

“Sam…it couldn’t have been Josh in the mines if he was up here scaring us…right?”

It was nothing short of a relief for Sam when Mike booked it back inside through the side door. Some questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers to. 

“Em!” The embrace was short lived when he realized that they were still one person unaccounted for. “Em, where’s Matt?”

“H-he fell. In the mines. The fire tower collapsed on us.” She hung her head, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She acted like she didn’t care, but oh, God she cared. She cared so much it fucking hurt. 

“Mike—where’s Chris?” While they were on the subject of missing persons…

“Relax, Ash,” he sighed. “He stayed to watch Josh. Make sure the little asshole doesn’t get loose until it’s time to go. Em,” Mike’s hand strayed to her shoulder, “I’m sorry about Matt. Really.” Damn. Was he actually being serious? Did he actually have a caring bone buried somewhere in there?

“There’s something down there—” They all jumped. A sharp crack at the door halted her hurried words.

Through the blinds they could just barely make out a shadow standing on the porch. Whatever it was rapped again, this time more urgently.

“It’s—it’s Chris! Something’s wrong! We gotta—”

Sam tried to catch her, but Ashley wriggled free and threw the door open without a second thought. She was doing an awful lot of door opening. Maybe…maybe if…when they got out of there Sam would suggest it as a profession.

She nearly—okay, she screamed. Loudly.

And whoever it was pushed right on inside, ignoring the shrieks and protests of the woman by the door.

Mike stutter-stepped, reached for the gun, then swore—he’d given it to Chris. Of all the shit-ass, rotten…

The man continued on his path of urgency through the stunned friends. He had huge, flammable canisters on his back. Was that—that was a fucking flamethrower in his hands. Well, that certainly explained the smell of gasoline. He walked with a weary sense of purpose. Burdened, and not just by the massive pack on his back. 

Hey, back, asshole!” Mike commanded like he was talking to a fucking dog. “You can’t just—”

“I can and I will, boy. Now sit your ass down.” He gestured to the rest of the crew. “All ‘o ya. Calm down.”

And his bravado started out so well. Mike’s pointed finger flopped uselessly to his side and he joined Sam and Emily on the couch. Both girls had strong grips on his hands before he could settle his rear into the cushions. Ash tentatively joined after a moment, leaning in close to Emily’s back.

The stranger assumed a place by the fire. Judging by the frost on his jacket and hat, he could really use the meager warmth. “You kids stirred up some real shit last year, and now you’re back for more,” he started. “Didn’t learn your lesson with the other two girls, huh?”

“You mean Hannah and Beth?” Ashley would have charged right out of her seat had Emily not grabbed her wrist. “How could you possible know about them unless you were there?” Soundless tears made their way down her face. When Emily finally let go, she used her sleeves to wipe them away. She’d had enough crying to last her five million years. That wasn’t going to stop her physiology.

“You mean other than it was all over the news—ow! What the hell, Sam?” Mike rubbed his bruised shoulder like a wounded puppy.

“All ‘a ya, shut up. You got no idea what’s goin’ on up here. You’re all about to die.”

The four stood up at once, shouting obscenities and protests until the flamethrower was pointed at them and he was shouting, too. 

They froze, huddled together. 

“I…am trying to help you stupid sons of bitches!” All pretense of politeness was gone. The old man huffed, seemingly ready to just get on with it, regardless of what the other idiots were going to say. “There’s a curse on this god-forsaken mountain.” The fire behind him crackled ominously, casting weird shadows over his face. “The curse of the wendigo.”

Mike scoffed. “The what-i-go?” 

“The wendigo. An old spirit. Those who succumb to cannibalism on this mountain unleash it. It possesses the host and…changes them. Those girls…the ones you call Hannah and Beth…I saw them the night they disappeared.”

“I fucking knew it!” Mike pointed an accusing finger in the stranger’s chest. “I knew you were guilty of something, old man.”

Sam dragged him back. “Mike are you stupid? He’s got a _weapon_! I think it’s best if we shut up and listen.” Her urgent whispering did the trick because Mike decided to shut his mouth.

“I tried to save them! I was trackin’ a wendigo—the one that killed my father. But then those girls ran out and caught its attention. I—I tried to save ‘em.” His face fell. The strangers lips pursed together tightly and he exhaled so heavily through his nose they thought it was going to fall off. “When they fell into the mines—I killed that wendigo. I freed his spirit to possess another.”

Emily gasped, covering her mouth. Beth’s body in the mines—the scribbling on the rock…Hannah’s glasses…it all made sense! Oh God, she was going to throw up. Ashley and Sam did their best to comfort her when she turned away. “I—I think that thing that chased me in the mines—guys, I think it was _Hannah_. I don’t—I don’t think she died down there.” 

“What? Emily are you—oh, Christ,” Sam wheezed, eyes wide, realizing just what Emily was saying. Then another, more horrible thought occurred to her. She knocked Mike on the shoulder. “Mike if—if that’s true, and some… _demented_ form of Hannah’s wandering around… _what about Josh_?”

“Christ on a cracker.”

“Who?”

“It’s—long story. Two of our friends are out in the barn. _Fuck_!” Mike damn near punched his own knee, cursing Josh, cursing the night, cursing goddamn freaky-ass paranormal fucking monsters. 

Then, cool as a cucumber, the stranger said: “they’ll already be dead.”

Ashley tore away and started sprinting for the door. The stranger, much more agile than his appearance suggested, grabbed her. “Let me go, you creepy fuck! I won’t leave Chris out there—I won’t!” Her fists pounded futilely against his arm. 

The stranger grunted as he pushed her back to the others. “I’ll go get them. In the meantime, you kids should find somewhere safe until I get back.”

“The basement _should_ be safe now…now that…”

“Yeah. Yeah. C’mon.” Mike herded the other three towards the stairs. He followed, but not without a final glance at the old guy. “Bring them back safe, will ya?”

The stranger gave a grim smile, grip tightening on his weapon. “I ain’t makin’ no promises.”

Mike wanted to say something else. It was sitting there, on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he swallowed it. Nodding, he followed the women to the basement.

Never had he felt worse in his life than right at that moment.

*

He was drowning. Lungs burned, so desperate for air they were on fire, set ready to burst. Everything around him was dark. Why was it always fucking dark? Why couldn’t death be a meadow of fucking flowers, with the sun shining bright and whispering leaves making love to his ears each time the wind blew.

At least it wasn’t raining. That would just about finish off the cliché. Right? Right? Who was with him?

Chris. Chris was with him. That stupid beautiful face that almost made him happy enough to not need his medication. That made his stomach feel funny in all the good ways and his head light as air. That stupid beautiful face that didn’t know how to talk about his feelings. 

When Josh said it took a traumatic event to bring people together, this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He was trying to help his bro out at the cost of his own selfish happiness—why wasn’t he able to see that Chris _didn’t_ like Ashley? What was it that blinded him? Because, shit, he would have capitalized on that _ages_ ago.

That’s not to say that his entire prank was strictly to get his best friend laid. No. No—those assholes deserved everything they got. What kind of person thinks it’s okay to toy with their friends’ emotions like that? And then have the audacity to get upset when the _exact_ same thing happens to them? If anything, Josh could call it the most successful social experiment, like, ever.

He was only sorry that Chris _did_ get caught in the crossfire. And he supposed the saw thing with Ashley _was_ him being a little on the salty side. He felt bad. But then again, he had _no freaking idea_ that Chris felt that way about him. Maybe a heads up next time would do wonders, eh, Cochise?

Cochise?

Where was Chris now? His hands searched the murky atmosphere, but came away empty. He tried to call out. His voice lodged deep in his chest, not even making the attempt to reach his throat. 

Fine. This was fine. He could do this. Chris was…he had to be somewhere. Giant nerds like that didn’t just up and disappear without a magic potion. And he wasn’t going anywhere until Josh managed to have his say-so. More pressing matters than the Bone Zone…Josh wanted to show him what he was missing because he was too chicken shit to say anything. Hardcore.

Something shrieked behind him. 

Startled, Josh turned around. Or…tried to. He turned in the general direction of what he thought was behind him. Everything was so dark he couldn’t tell up from down. For all he knew, he was standing on his damn head. 

Nothing. 

Well, his lungs no longer burned. In fact, they didn’t really seem to work in general. He wasn’t breathing. His heart wasn’t pumping. Even though he was moving, he felt…frozen. Removed from space but not from time.

Another inhuman shriek. Louder.

Closer.

And still he couldn’t see a goddamn thing. 

There was the sound of something scraping against stone. 

Cold air hit the back of his neck. Josh swung around so hard he almost fell.

Hannah. It was Hannah staring back at him. She had a toothy grin and black…no. She didn’t have any eyes. A skull. Hannah was a patchwork skull leering at him. Her glasses hung askew on her face, barely held on by one crumbling ear. Beth lingered in the background, watching over her shoulder like she always did. Where one twin went, the other was sure to follow. 

“You left us to die, Josh,” they echoed in unison. How was such a vast and empty space letting their voices carry like that? 

“No, no, no, no, no…” Josh’s hands flew to his face. He’d been doing so well, hadn’t had a hallucination in _months_ and now…where was Chris? He needed to find Chris!

They advanced, their voices mixing in unison. “Thought you loved us, Josh.”

Hot tears streaked down his cheeks, through his fingers. Deep breaths. Why was his heart trying to escape his chest? It was perfectly fine where it was at. “You’re not real!” Dammit! He felt like shit for thinking that about his terrifying nightmare-sisters. “Get away from me!” Josh tried to back up.

Beth was behind him, beanie only partially atop her head. Whatever strands of hair she had left stuck to the oozing, peeling skin of her face. A huge, gaping wound was in the place of a temple, bone smashed in so far he could see bits of grey matter. She laughed as he vomited all over the floor. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Chris? Chris!” Where was he? Chris was _always_ there. Chris would never—

“He’s not coming. He’s left you all alone. Just like everyone else.”

“We’re the only ones that really care for you, Josh.”

“We’re so lonely, Josh. Don’t you want to be a family again?”

Josh fell to his knees, hands clawing at his shoulders, breaths coming in chunks and gasps. Why were his eyes still leaking? “C-Chris…” he choked on the word. The world spiraled and constricted around him. Every little movement was rough, like he was a puppet unable to control his own goddamn strings.

“He doesn’t love you, Josh. Only we love you.”

“You’re not real. You’re not real.”

Something heavy fell in front of him. He chanced a glance and saw a torn and ratty jacket enveloping a too-small body. The hood was furry. And bloody. Not like it mattered; the body didn’t have a head. The front was torn open, chest cavity cracked to either side like someone had bathed in it or feasted on the missing organs like a decadent meal. Josh gagged, trying to keep the contents of his stomach inside, where they belonged.

“Join us, Josh. Let’s be a family again.”

Hannah and Beth were kneeling next to him. Except Hannah wasn’t Hannah anymore. No. She was…changing. Her already dead skin was getting deader (was that a thing, because apparently now it totally was). Hair started falling out in clumps until she was completely bald. She was stretching. And shrinking, clothes dropping off and ribs beginning to protrude from her skin. Hannah’s lips stretched and the skin around her cheeks opened to make room for massive teeth. Eyes rolled down, milky and smooth. 

Josh watched his sister change with growing trepidation and horror. His mouth dropped lower as his throat constricted. 

“Join us.” Her mouth never moved but Josh could hear her in his head. She was staring at him, thick globs of saliva dripping to the ground. 

His eyes slid to the corpse in front of him. 

Suddenly he was hungry—so hungry. Absolutely ravenous. His mouth watered. How long had it been since he’d eaten? It was looking so good. And it would make Hannah happy—how long since he’d seen a smile on his sisters’ face? Hannah and Beth deserved to be happy. He promised to protect them and he failed. The least he could do was honor their one simple request.

“W-will we really be together?” His voice was so small and meek. It shamed him to no end. Not as much as realized that he could have saved his sisters. If he hadn’t gotten drunk, been so focused on either wooing Chris like a bad decision, or coping with the fact that he couldn’t have him, he’d still have his sisters.

“Forever, Josh. We’ll never leave you again.”

“Okay. Okay. I trust you. I trust you.” They were his sisters after all. They wouldn’t lead him astray.

There was no second thought. 

He felt nothing as he reached down and grasped an arm. He felt even less when his teeth sank into the meat, just a little chilled. Absolutely nothing compared to the feeling of the flesh sliding down his throat or the blood dripping down his chin.

Something shrieked around him. Consumed him. His body shook. His mind went blank. Half his fucking face hurt. Things were…changing. Josh couldn’t think, couldn’t rationalize. He was in a heavy fog.

Dancing in the background of that fog he could see feathered shapes. He could hear disappointed chanting. It was painful, inside and out. His brain burned. The shapes around him kept dancing and chanting. Josh could taste their anger.

But he felt powerful. Raw, untamed. He sucked in a breath so deep that whales would be jealous. For once he felt free. Alive.

Someone was shouting. His sisters screamed and flickered, slowly dying away. He growled and grunted. Where were they going? They said they’d always be there! Josh’s hands flexed and his nails—elongated, sharpened, strong—cut trenches in the ground. He took another breath and screamed as loud as he could. Someone laughed in the distance, ancient and powerful.

He could hear whispers and echoes of something forgotten. Something important. It smelled familiar. It smelled safe.

“Josh? Josh! What the—fuck, man, what—”

When Chris finally came to (with a matching lump on the _other_ side of his head, thank you very much) he thought they were okay. Things were gonna be fine. 

But now his hands were on Josh’s shoulders and Josh was staring at him like he didn’t know him. Except he _wasn’t Josh_. And it wasn’t like the teeth gave it away, tearing apart half his face. Or the milky covering that hid the lustrous green from view. Or the blood. Or the…partially eaten arm dangling from his…claws. 

Chris smacked the limb out of Josh’s hands without a second thought. Braver than he first assumed. Even in such a state, there was no scaring the blonde away. Not now. They had reached the point of no return and Chris crossed the line without thinking about it. His only concern was Josh—his only concern had always been Josh. “Bro, what—”

He didn’t finish his sentence because giant fucking claws raked across his chest, tearing through his layers and gouging his skin. A terrifying, inhuman shriek. Chris was falling back, frozen, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving. _I’m gonna die. Fuck. And here I thought things were going so well_.

Not-Josh was crawling over top of him. Any other situation and it would have been sexy as hell. But not now. Not with Josh leering at him with that hungry look in his eye, like he was dinner. “J-Josh? Bro. It’s me. It’s Cochise. Chris. You don’t wanna do this, dude.” Chris curled up on himself as best he could, hands shielding his face. His chest burned with every movement, sticky and wet. What was he saying? What was he _thinking_? The hell was wrong with him? 

The animal above him snorted, inhaling. Like it was sniffing him. Chris remained still, too scared to do anything else. A garbled murmur came from Not-Josh’s throat, trying to say something and failing horribly. 

Then it was stretching, reaching over him. Only when it went still and silent did Chris dare to crack one eye open.

At first all he could see was a deathly pale arm planted next to his head. Then something reflective caught his eye. 

His glasses. 

Not-Josh was holding his glasses, mildly busted, carefully between his claws. He was holding them out expectantly.

 _This is fucking madness_.

With trembling fingers Chris took them, restored sight making him breathe a small sigh of relief. He was still trapped beneath…whatever Josh was.

 _You’ve gone crazy. What’s wrong with you_?

The creature was watching him carefully, scrutinizing. His face was inches from Chris’s. The worst part? He still looked like Josh. Chris’s hand reached up. It was still Josh in there. His Josh. He reached towards the gaping wound on his cheek.

Josh snarled, snapping at Chris’s fingers. The blonde withdrew them immediately, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, so sorry…” Somehow this was his fault. This was all his fucking fault and there was nothing he could do to make it any better.

 _Lost your goddamn mind_.

Cocking his head, the beast sniffled. It leaned down closer to Chris’s face. So close he could smell the icy breath. Here it came. Now he was going to be eaten. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, pissed that he was going to die blubbering like a little bitch. 

Something warm and wet touched his temple, with an unheard of gentleness. Startled, Chris jumped and opened his eyes in time to see Josh licking his lips, like a fancy wine connoisseur at his first tasting. Chris’s eyes went wide when he realized that Josh just _licked his face_. When was the last time that happened?

Four years ago. When they were playing a Halo death match and Josh was trying to distract him because he kept losing. Then, he’d smelled like pizza. Now, he smelled snow and ice and…something primeval.

The creature above him screwed his nose up, clearly not liking the taste. He hopped off of the blonde, crawling on all fours, movements jerky, yet graceful. His head cocked side to side, like he was trying to make up his mind. Finally he huffed. He grabbed the corpse on the floor and tossed it at Chris’s feet. 

An offering? A snack? The fuck? Josh stood, now much taller than he had been, lanky arms dangling in front. He looked awkward standing on two feet—like a cat would. Except less hilarious (that was a lie) and more terrifying.

Chris raised himself to his elbows, staring incredulously at Josh. “The hell, dude?” Seriously, what was going on? When Chris made no move for the body, Josh assumed he was too dumb to know what to do. So he leaned down, mouth wide and gaping… “No!” Without thinking Chris shoved into him. 

The creature snarled and retaliated, claws scraping across Chris’s face.

“Josh! Seriously! Stop that shit!” Now his cheek was bleeding. Now he was really fucking pissed. Everything he’d done and the asshole wanted to play like that? Creature or no…there was no excuse for his behavior! Pink splotches appeared on Chris’s cheeks. 

The creature remained poised to attack, but this time he was ready. Slower than his counterparts, Josh slung his claws out once more. Chris caught him at the wrists, yanked Josh forward and their foreheads collided with a sickening echo. 

The monster that was his best friend, caught off-guard, was thrown to the floor in a decidedly ungraceful heap.

“Jesus fuck!” Chris had never regretted anything as much as he did right now. He doubled over, clutching both hands to his head. Oh, Christ, the world around him was fluctuating. Nausea built. His face was going to be a myriad of bruising come the next twenty minutes. When did he jump onto the poor life choices bandwagon?

A heady groan dulled the pain for a moment. That groan of pain was human, not animal. Chris peered through bloodstained fingers. Josh was stirring, his movements clumsy and…human.

Chris stumbled over, one hand still clapped against his head. “J-Josh.” He fought not to throw up every step of the way.

“Nn…”

“Josh, dude…c’mon, man, don’t screw with me.”

If there was a coherent response, Chris missed it amidst the thick slurring and hissing that escaped his friends’ mouth. 

“Bro, what…?” Why did everything hurt? Why was he so hungry? “C-Chris?”

“Oh, thank God!” Pain left behind for the moment, the blonde fell to his knees. Josh was sitting up, slowly but surely. He raised a hand to rub at the blossoming bruise on his face.

Chris quickly snatched it away. “The hell, bro?”

Almost guiltily, Chris held Josh’s hand out for study.

It was like he didn’t see it. “Where’s Hannah and Beth?”

Chris just stared at him, perplexed. He wasn’t sure if Josh was serious—like still trapped in his head serious, or if he was playing it off with humor. To be honest, either scenario—or both at once—were probably applicable. His eyes were unfocused, still milky. Could he even see? Was that why he missed his arm?

He was still locked deep in his head. Josh suddenly started shaking, gripping his shoulders tight. His skin went three shades paler. His throat worked to no avail. Quickly Chris pulled off his coat and slung it around then other man’s body, pressing into him a little tighter than necessary. God, he felt so thin—how was that possible? They couldn’t have been down in the…wherever they were…for more than a few hours, right? He was sure Josh had been at _least_ twenty pounds heavier.

Josh’s tongue darted out, caressing the massive new additions to his jaw by accident. He choked and cringed, nearly pitching forward. Chris was there to catch him. He pulled the sobbing man to his chest. “W-where…w-w-what—”

“Sh. I’m here, dude. It’s okay.” Chris cradled his head, running his fingers through Josh’s dark hair. It was ten degrees in the caves but the man was sweating bullets. Chris almost regretted giving him the coat, but Josh’s arms were locked tight into it, holding on like it was keeping him grounded.

Josh’s claws—and that’s precisely what they still were—shot out and clung to Chris’s arms like a lifeline. “C-Chris, what happened? Where’s Hannah and Beth? They said they’d be here!”

Tears formed in the corners of Chris’s eyes. What could he say to that? “I-I don’t know, bro. Sh, Josh. I don’t know what’s happening, but I swear I’ll get us out.” He pressed a tense kiss to the top of Josh’s skull. “I’ll get us out, no matter what.”

“If you two homos are done with—what the fuck?”

“Oh, God. Oh, no. Josh!”

Mike and Sam were on them in an instant, blurring Chris’s vision. Shouts filled the air. He felt them tugging on Josh, trying to pull him away, but the blonde refused to let go. 

A hideous growl filled the air. And it wasn’t from him. Still, it did nothing to deter the others.

“Chris—what—he’s one of those!”

“Don’t fucking touch him! Get off!”

It was a struggle, but Chris distanced them from Sam and Mike. He couldn’t decide if the pair was more terrified or horrified. Josh went, his body like a limp noodle, hugging in close to Chris. His entire frame vibrated with hisses and snarls. The blonde put himself between Josh and the others, unsure if he was worried for Josh or for them. He was getting some pretty angry vibes all around.

Sam took a deep breath. She held her hands out non-threateningly, but still worked to approach them. “Chris, you have to listen to me. Josh is—Josh is one of those _things_. They’re monsters. Hannah’s one of them.”

After tonight, there wasn’t much anyone could say to surprise him. And yeah, okay, the ‘monster’ thing made sense with the weird teeth and shit but this was still _Josh_. There was something very human about him still. “He’s not. He’s not, Sam. We’re all—look, we’re all _really_ freaked out right now—”

“Chris, pull your dick out of his ass and just take a fucking look at him!” Mike’s chastising sounded like more of a whiny plea than anything. Chris actually flinched and the tone—and the implications—but he wouldn’t let it weaken his resolve. He remembered the way Mike pointed that gun, accusing Josh of…well, _everything_. Anger flared in his gut, a nasty gleam in his eye.

A horrible, hissing screech echoed down the caverns, mimicking the ones Josh was making, only on a larger scale. “We have to go. We can discuss this later.” Sam looked up at the light flooding through the ceiling. “See that? If we can climb up we can get out.”

“I-I don’t think Josh can make that.”

“He’s not coming with us.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter? We’re not taking that fucking monster. One of those things killed Jessica.”

“Oh really? Because like, an hour ago, you were convinced _Josh_ killed Jessica.” Chris left Josh to get into Mikes face. There was no fear. As he moved, the gun pressed into his spine, still firmly lodged in his waistband. No, he wasn’t like Mike. He wasn’t going to resort to that. But it was tempting, oh so tempting. If only so the asshole could feel the terror he inflicted on others. “And now you’re saying he _is_ one. Jesus Christ, Mike, you wanna blame him for your break-up with Em, too? Or-or how about the fact—”

“Don’t you fucking dare you—”

“Guys!”

Mike and Chris stopped long enough to follow her pointed finger. Josh—whatever he was now—was halfway up the sheer rock cliff. He paused when the noise stopped, looking back at them—at Chris—sadly. When another screech rose up, he turned tail and was gone.

“Good. Let the asshole go. Let’s get back to the lodge.”

Chris almost punched him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr! bluespartan114


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare has to end. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also there is a bit of gore in the chapter. Without giving too much away, it does occur when they're in the lodge.

The hike back to the lodge was tense. As if the threat of being attacked and eaten wasn’t bad enough, dissention in their ranks added a spice of fear no one was particularly fond of. 

All three came to the silent agreement that they should go back the way they came; seeing the wendigo form of Josh crawling out through the roof of the cave, well…following in his footsteps just sounded like a bad time. Who knew if he would still be friendly? Or if he wouldn’t attract the unwanted attention of other wendigo in the area?

And Sam was worried. No. More than worried. Absolutely terrified that Chris and Mike were going to tear each other apart. 

Watching their transformations as the night progressed was the saddest thing she’d ever witnessed. Never before had Mike been so antagonistic; obnoxious, sure, but he knew when to draw the line. 

Chris was…Sam was scared for him. He was normally one to try and make peace, not…whatever this was. And she really had no goddamn clue if he was going to be okay. 

She sighed. It all made sense, though. Chris and Josh had been friends since the third grade. The blonde had more loyalty to the Washingtons than the rest of them. And Chris was so _compassionate_. No way would he just let someone walk all over Josh like that. Kick a man when he was down, so to speak. 

She wasn’t going to include Chris’s big dumb crush on Josh, either. Though she probably should. Hell, it might even be reason enough for the behavioral change in him.

Poor Ashley, though. She had no idea and she still pursued the one guy too nice to hurt her feelings. And Josh…who knew what the fuck ran through his head on a daily basis. Sam had her suspicions. She kept them to herself—getting involved in that would be like stepping on a landmine on purpose. It was bound to blow up at some point.

So she was hesitant to bring up the one question that would break their tentative truce. It had to be done. Sam was just hoping she was a neutral enough party to not get anyone killed, herself included. “What are we going to do about Josh?” She said it quietly enough that maybe she would be ignored. No such luck with the aid of snows oppressive silence. 

Chris’s shoulders stiffened immediately. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. “What do you mean?”

Thankfully, Mike remained silent. 

“Rescue’s supposed to be here at dawn.” Above them, the sky was beginning to lighten, the snowstorm losing momentum. Sam let the rest of the implications hang precariously in the air.

“Maybe…maybe he’ll be there. At the lodge, I mean. He was still coherent. He’s got to—I mean, he’d _want_ to leave the mountain…right?” God, he sounded so unsure. Hopefully unsure. His voice cracked like he was on the brink of crying. Of giving up.

Mike’s head swiveled around. He was getting ready to open his mouth, but Chris met his gaze and held it. Regardless of the unsurity of his words, he wasn’t going to give up. There was absolute clarity in his convictions and no one, absolutely no one, was going to tell him different. Mike sighed, changing his mind. His shoulders slumped. Christ he was tired. “If he’s at the lodge, we’ll take him with us. Let the police decide.”

Still tense, Chris nodded. He wasn’t necessarily agreeing to Mike’s plan. However, it was enough to keep the peace. For now.

The wind was beginning to die down around them. Birds chirped through the trees, welcoming the dawn of a new day as though they hadn’t been bothered by anything going bump in the night. Branches and twigs snapped as deer and elk retreated to their dens. The landscape was coming alive with the sounds of wildlife. Clumps of snow fell from the trees as animals alighted and landed on branches, having their own version of a snowball fight. Any other time it would have been a peaceful retreat. All that was missing was the—

Screaming.

They could still hear the wendigo—was there a plural version of the word?—echo faintly. Every time they heard one Chris would flinch and look around as though expecting Josh to come barreling out of the woods and into his arms like some sappy romantic horror movie ending. Sam’s heart broke each time he hung his head and continued trudging on. 

Maybe the wendigo would give up soon. Stop torturing them. Retreat to the mines with the overpowering sun already on its way and enjoy the spoils they’d already taken.

All three of them relaxed a little when they reached the lodge. They were bruised and beaten and bleeding and exhausted and at their wits end. Each of them knew that if they flopped onto the couch to rest, or stopped moving, even for a second, they might not get back up for _at least_ twenty-four hours. So they kept trudging. Kept that flare of hope alive that they would be rescued soon. They would leave the mountain. Leave all of this…horror behind. 

As Sam picked up the rock and knocked into the glass without a second thought, she realized that none of them were ever going to be the same. Tonight changed them. Whether it was for better or worse…that remained to be seen. 

Well, it was going to be awful at first. That much she knew as she ushered the men into the safety of four walls and a roof. When the survival instinct flickered and died, their minds would be left unprotected. They would dwell on the events. Relive them when they were at their most vulnerable. They were going to be looking over their shoulders, constantly, to see if some hideous creature with twisted teeth and breath reeking of death was staring at them. They were going to hear those screams. Randomly, while walking down the street, and they were going to freak out and sprint to the nearest alley and hold still, barely taking a breath, hoping it was going to pass by. 

It was going to bring them closer together or tear them so far apart.

“Hello?” Sam called, flipping on the lights. They were still four people short. Hoping that they were all here, bags packed and ready to go was way too much to ask.

Mike flipped the lights back off. “Not good,” he said with a shake of his head.

Chris huffed, tenderly rubbing his own noggin. The bleeding stopped, but there were still smears and he wasn’t entirely sure it was all his. “Should we check the basement?” He couldn’t think of a safer place for them to hide if…they were still alive. Christ, he could hardly think at all.

Sam nodded. “They probably retraced their steps through the tunnel.” She said it with much more conviction than she actually felt. 

“Basement it is, then.” Mike made a sweeping gesture, not really looking Chris in the eye. “After you.”

“Sure, let the nerd die first. I’ve seen this movie,” he shot back. But it wasn’t menacing. Chris was actually teasing. Maybe…maybe they would be okay after all. 

His big ass boots clomped down the steps, alerting every dust bunny in the lodge to his presence. 

“So…” Sam broke the silence, glancing around the cinema room and shivering. She half-expected (hoped) to see a gruesome mask reflected off of one of the framed posters. “What d’ya rate our chances of survival?” Carefully she skirted around the broken remains to the vase. Her heart dropped into her gut. 

Before anyone could answer, a chorus of terrified swears and commands materialized from the hall. Next thing they knew, Emily and Ashley were barreling past them, almost knocking them down, shouting _run run run_. 

In a startled sort of ‘deer in the headlights’ way, the three of them took the extra second to see what was chasing them.

None of them would admit the silent hope that it was a psycho in a mask.

Boy they wished they’d just listened and ran.

Two wendigo, smaller than the one they’d been seeing, were screeching down the hall. They launched themselves from ceiling to wall to floor so fast that the eye had a hard time tracking them. 

“Oh, fuck! Run!” 

Both Mike and Chris took off at full speed. That instinct of self-preservation was slow to take over, leaving Sam standing there, torn between slamming the door shut and taking off. 

You can bet she most certainly followed in their footsteps.

It was short lived, however, when she crested the top of the stairs and lo and behold, there was that goddamn alpha. No. Hannah. Sam could see the tattoo. Hannah was the big bad wendigo boss. She froze, half out of sheer terror, half out of wonder. 

“Don’t. Move. Don’t fucking move a muscle.” Mike was standing within arm’s reach, trying to take inventory of everyone’s position.

The wendigo were approaching from behind. None of them dared to even breathe. Sam was pretty sure that was their collective heartbeat pounding beneath their feet, rattling the floorboards. They were fucked. 

Almost was the saddest words in the English language. And now, more than ever, it felt appropriate. 

They almost made it. They almost survived.

One of the smaller wendigo, feeling emboldened by bloodlust, went for Hannah, releasing a very disgruntled battle-cry. There was enough meat in the room to feed it for weeks and it was stupidly eager to capitalize. 

Hannah was easily twice its size and three times as strong. Without exerting much effort she made soup of its head in the stairs and tossed it into the fire to cook.

The room smelled familiar. This room belonged to _her_ and _her alone_. Shimmering in her field of vision were the other wendigo. She challenged them to take her throne. To move in on her territory. She _dared_ them.

They could hear the gas leaking before they could smell it. 

Unnerved by the territorial exchange going on, it was Mike who spied the light bulb first. The one Chris was nearest to. Somehow the blonde felt someone staring holes into his skull and finally turned his head. He followed Mike’s gaze to the simple household item that just became a time bomb. In an agreeable, silent exchange, they nodded. Sam watched carefully, keeping an eye on the other two women. 

Chris moved so slowly it was like he wasn’t doing anything at all. He was successful at avoiding detection until the glass popped in his hand. 

And Hannah was in his face. Hissing, spitting, roaring. 

Her breath was the embodiment of icy death. A golem, waiting to swallow him whole.

Her milky white eyes flashed with anger. She just caught the movement of dinner and now it was gone. She was getting frustrated with these games. 

The blonde almost pissed himself. He was lightheaded from holding his breath. Christ, he wasn’t even blinking. Somehow he wasn’t shaking—hell, don’t ask him how because he would just collapse into a sobbing, blubbering mess on the floor. Chris didn’t know how much longer he could keep himself conscious. His skin was crawling, remembering the blast of fetid breath that no one asked for.

Then there was a shadow over his shoulder. It streaked by him and Hannah was gone in the time it took him to blink. 

Just like that, Chris let out the breath he’d been holding. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye when he realized just who close to death he’d actually been. 

Oh, God, the horrible sounds. When he finally managed to locate his saving grace, he almost cried harder because wendigo on wendigo violence was a disgusting affair.

Josh. 

Josh, overalls almost torn to shreds, was going toe-to-toe with his sister. Like two animals fighting for dominance (or a mate) they were going at it. Life or fucking death. It was the goddamn Thunderdome inside the lodge and Hannah was the Master Blaster.

Christ, the blood. They tore at each other. Flung each other into walls and furniture. Splinters of wood and broken glass rained down everywhere, creating a mosaic of destruction on the floor. 

Josh sank his teeth into her shoulder, coming away with a giant chunk of flesh. 

Hannah screamed and cut swaths out of his abdomen. Mostly out of his overalls, but some skin definitely went flying too. If he hadn’t been wearing such a ridiculous outfit…his internal organs would probably be splattered like a Van Gogh on the wall beside him. 

The third wendigo watched in horror. It continued to watch until Hannah was an unrecognizable mess on the ground, throat making pitiful gurgling noises. It was poised up on the second floor, trying hard to comprehend what was going on. This newcomer didn’t smell right. It was one of them…it had to be. There was no way anything else could have taken down one of their own—their most powerful. 

With Hannah incapacitated, Sam made towards Mike. And drew the attention of the one wendigo everyone forgot about.

It was on her in a second. Talons wrapped around her neck, her feet dangling precariously in the air…

…then she was a heap on the ground, coughing. 

Josh was ripping out the stomach of the other creature. He sounded angry. So angry.

Then all was silent. 

Ignoring the fact that the lodge looked like a set for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (and the fact that everyone in the house was probably covered in the same, if not worse), a peaceful silence settled.

Except everyone’s gaze was on Josh, who stood front and center. No one made a move. His head hung low. He rubbed one arm nervously. 

Chris was the first to break. He ran and threw his arms around Josh so fast, the other man could only stand stock-still, eyes wide. The blonde didn’t give a damn about the blood smearing all over him, or the pieces of wendigo intestine rubbing off. What mattered was Josh was here. Josh came back.

Josh _saved_ them.

Despite everything else that had gone on during this fucked up night, everything that was said, everything they’d done…Josh. Came. Back. 

Boy did they have some serious shit to apologize for. They’d be making cakes every day for the next thousand years.

Sam was the next to move. 

Then Emily and Ashley.

Josh and Mike were in a Mexican standoff, each one staring more and more guiltily at the other. Mike watched and wondered how no one seemed to give two shits about what Josh just did or the changes to his appearance. They just seemed grateful that he (they) were alive. So Mike gave in. Except instead of a hug, he nodded at Josh. They weren’t okay, but Mike wasn’t going to knock the guy that risked life and limb (literally) to pull their asses out of the fire. He was a dick, he knew, but not that kind of dick.

Josh crooked a smile. An awkward one because only half of his face would cooperate, but it was there. 

A steady thrum started vibrating the floorboards. It pulsed and grew louder with every passing second until even the walls were shaking.

“The helicopter!” Emily gasped, breaking free and running for the door. Ashley was close on her heels. Sometimes there were more important things than thanks. Like getting the fuck out of there.

Sam was crying. “We’re saved. Oh, God. We’re alive.” She tugged Chris with her. The blonde seemed reluctant to leave the other, so Sam doubled back and grabbed Josh’s wrist. They were getting out of this together. All of them alive. She smiled back at the boys through the tears on her face. 

Mike carded a hand through his hair, watching them go. Christ, what a fucked up night. But here they were. Alive and—oh, fuck.

The broken, bloody, beaten mess of Hannah had dragged herself over to the wall with the light switch. She was weak, gasping for air, bleeding out all over the floor. Her arm shook violently, trying to hold up her weight. The other hand trembled, jerked as it reached up…

“Run!”

The warning burst out of his mouth in time for Sam and Chris to take off. They’d heard enough of the command tonight that it was almost second nature, survival without question—they weren’t making the same mistake twice. 

Josh’s wrist slid from Sam’s grasp. He just stood there, wondering what the hell just happened. The danger was over, wasn’t it?

Then he smelled the gas. He caught the movement flashing from the corner of his eye.

Hannah’s fingers were on the switch.

Faster than any human could move, Josh dragged Mike to the door. He shoved the other man violently, as far as he could into the snow. Mike landed with a soft fwump, body sinking a few inches into the ground. He covered his head and waited, entire body tensed and coiled.

Josh was on the threshold when the house exploded.

*

The fucked up thing about hospitals was the fact that they were all the same.

Cheerless, stark white. Sterilization. Snow. It looked so much like snow. And all the people in and out constantly, not allowing any privacy. It all started with the police station.

Obviously the authorities wanted to know why a house exploded when rescue got there. And then the story unraveled. There were a few differences here or there—like accounts of the psycho (and by here or there, it was Mike and Chris specifically). 

When his interrogator mentioned Josh, the blonde tried to get an answer out of him—was he alive? Was he okay? What was going to happen? His mouth tightened in response each time, throat constricting, trying to stem the flow of tears. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to cry again. And his questions were always deflected with another one designed to draw Chris’s attention away, focus on more important things like…were his men going to be killed if sent into the mines?

When all was said and done, Ashley was the first released. Few physical wounds and lesser psychological trauma. All things considered, she was made of sturdier stuff than first appeared. 

Emily and Matt were next. Their wounds were mostly physical—well, unless you want to count the emotional baggage that came with their very loud breakup. 

Mike and Sam came a few weeks later. They carried the rest of them through the entire ordeal. Someone else needed to carry them for a little while. 

Jess and Chris were the final ones. Jess was out in about a month. Quiet, more reserved, but alright. She had regular therapy sessions once a week. Chris took two months in total. Therapy twice a week. 

Once free, he retreated. 

Well, retreated as best he could. His own apartment (the one he convinced his parents to let him get after a particularly bad episode with Josh) was constantly flooded by well-wishers. Also his parents wanted him to come home so they could keep an eye on him. Chris was flattered, really, but he was fine and a little peace and quiet would go a long way. 

But nothing was okay. 

_Hey dip, can Sam and I come over?_

_Dude, Matt and I getting delivery. You in?_

_Hey, did you know Matt was bi? Just found that out. Wanna know how?_

_You’ve been quiet. Seen Jess lately?_

_Saw a shirt today that reminded me of you._

_Call me._

_Hey, call me._

_Chris?_

_Dude?_

_I know we weren’t all that close but…I’m here if you need me, man._

_C’mon man…answer the phone._

43 missed calls.

18 new voicemails.

Then nothing. Chris was free. He was finally alone. But even that came with a price.

Because he wasn’t really alone. Ghosts hung around him constantly, fogging up his brain and making it hard to think. They clouded him with accusations and guilt. They didn’t let him sleep. Hell, he couldn’t even take a piss without one whispering into his ear. 

The remote control felt like dead weight in his hands. There was a show playing on the television—not that he could tell you what was going on. His glasses were somewhere on the side table. He wasn’t paying attention anyway. Staring off into space, wondering what you could have done different over and over again sounded like a much better way to spend his day.

All the curtains were drawn. He refused to answer the door whenever a knock sounded. His gut clenched and his heart rate skyrocketed. Chris had to take several deep breaths and remember what his therapist told him. There would never be a monster on the other side of that door.

Except there would be. Chris knew the moment he opened that door he would be inviting all the wendigo into his house. His safe zone. 

Then the monsters got smarter. They stopped knocking.

They didn’t even wait for him to close his eyes and go to sleep; which was silly because it felt like all he did was sleep. Sleep and go to therapy. It wasn’t true, but that’s how he felt. He was always tired so sleep always sounded like a great idea. It passed the day. 

It’s not like his dreams were any better. What the wendigo didn’t invade, Josh did.

His blood all over Chris. His shallow breaths. The lack of skin across his back. Unresponsive. Alive. Calling for help. Crying, tied up, alone in the shed. Nails scraping against stone, trapped in the mines. Screaming, with no one around to hear him. No one to comfort him. 

The paramedics had whisked him away immediately. Separately.

No one would tell him what was going on. As far as he knew, Josh was dead. Taken away for some weirdo scientific experiments. Dissection. Torture. 

And a good portion of himself went with him. 

As the days passed, Chris found himself giving less and less of a fuck. Eating was becoming an absolute chore. He’d already lost about ten pounds. 

The scars across his face and chest were still angry and red. He liked them, in a weird, fucked up way. They reminded him of Josh. Sometimes the deeper ones ached a little when the weather turned sour. Or maybe it was just when he was feeling sour. Which, in all honesty, was all the time, but that was neither here nor there. He had to take extra precautions to not stress the ones on his chest; they were deep as shit and taking longer to heal than the others. Seeing the blood leaking out of the wounds brought back painful memories. 

His phone hadn’t rung in days. When it finally did, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Chris didn’t know why he kept it around, but he did. He supposed some stupid part of him was still hoping that…well, it didn’t matter now.

Out of pure habit he picked it up. It was a number he vaguely remembered, but couldn’t place. 

He tossed it back onto the table.

Again and again it rang. Whoever was on the other end refused the leave a voicemail. 

Any other day and he would have turned it off. Apparently today was not that day. Something made him swipe his finger across the screen and finally answer his first phone call in about a while.

“Yeah?” His voice sounded strange to him. Hoarse. Croaky. Rusty from the lack of use.

“Chris?” The woman on the other end sounded confused. Maybe she hadn’t really expected him to answer. 

“Who’s this?” He was bored already. Half tempted to hang up.

“Melinda Washington. …Josh’s mom.”

He sat up a little straighter. His heart beat a little faster. A flash of white before his eyes. 

In the months since their return from the mountain, the Washingtons were the one family that he hadn’t heard from. No well wishes, no condolences…not even an update on their fucking son. Some friend of the family he turned out to be.

“Chris? Are you still there?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathed. _Breathe_. He scrubbed a hand down his face. As though that would make him more coherent. What was the appropriate thing to say to your dead best friend's mom? “I’m here.”

“I know things have been difficult…since…” She paused, not sure what to say. “Could you stop by sometime today?”

How long had it been since he left the house? Did he remember how to drive? Christ, that meant he would have to take a shower. “Sure. Yeah,” he found himself saying as much as he didn’t want to. “Yeah. I’ll be by later.”

The relief was audible in her voice. “Thank you, Chris. We’ll see you soon.”

Not only did the shower feel foreign to him, but so did the feeling of denim across his skin. Hell, anything other than sweats or his pajamas felt foreign. But his hair was clean and soft and smooth. A little long. He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his face contemplatively. Nah, too much effort to shave. 

He knew he was putting it off. Finding little things to do here and there to distract himself. Adjusting the magnets on the fridge. Turning over pictures he hadn’t had to look at in weeks. Tossing dirty clothes into the laundry room. Not doing them, mind you, but it was a good first step. 

In reality he was scared. Like, really scared. He had absolutely no idea what awaited him at the Washington manor. 

And he really didn’t want to speculate. Speculation would start raising his hopes and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d had enough let downs and disappointment to last a lifetime. 

Before he knew it, he was in his car. Driving. Following an old, familiar path completely on autopilot. Chris tried to keep his mind blank, focusing on whatever music was playing in the background. Red Hot Chili Peppers, maybe? 

A wendigo was in the seat next to him. Laughing. A cruel, cruel sound. 

It stayed there, watching him, as he got out of the car in the Washington’s driveway.

His hands shook as he reached for the doorbell. They shook so bad that he actually missed. He could hear the echoing chuckle behind him.

That was okay. Before he could regroup and try again, the door opened. 

“Oh, Chris, sweetie.” Both of Melinda’s hands flew to her face before enveloping the blonde. He tentatively returned the gesture, trying to hide how much it weirded him out. He hadn’t had a hug in…too long. “Come in, come in. Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

The corner of Chris’s mouth twitched. This was familiar territory. Safe territory. This was…missed so horribly he wanted to cry. All their sleepovers as kids; Melinda took a vote on what pizza to order. How many grilled cheese sandwiches to make. Who wanted apple juice and who wanted orange. “No. Thanks.” Was he being rude? “I-I’m alright.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and nervously toed at the carpet.

He avoided looking her in the eye. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t she just blame him for the death of her son? He had enough accusations. He didn’t need hers as well.

She smiled sadly, nodding. Her brown eyes took in his smaller frame. The bags under his eyes. The pale pallor of his skin. She refused to let them linger too long on the jagged scars that went from temple to lips, across one eye. He was still missing some of his brow where they had to put stitches in. “There’s something waiting for you. In Josh’s room. We’ve been…waiting for the right time, I’m sure you understand.” She tilted her head towards the stairs.

Cryptic was never Melinda’s way. Chris eyed her a little warily, his guard up. Not that he distrusted her, but he distrusted surprises. Still, he nodded obediently and ascended the stairs.

Beth and Hannah’s rooms were shut tight, he noticed. Before…when they still held some naïve hope that the girls would be found, the Washingtons kept the doors open, welcoming. Waiting for their daughters just the same as the day they left. 

Now they hid the eyes peeking out at him from beneath the doors. The scratching and tappings tainting the wood. He hurried down the hall.

Josh’s door was the last on the left. It was cracked open, a tiny ribbon of light poking through.

Chris hesitated outside. What was the surprise? Mementos of their dead son? His dead best friend? Did they gather like…a photo album? Why hadn’t they invited him to the funeral?

Heart set to burst from his chest, Chris eeked the door open.

And froze.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, nearly drowning in an oversized hoodie, was Josh.

Joshua fucking Washington.

He looked tired. Half of his face was still split, enormous teeth poking out. His skin was a few shades darker than Chris remembered—which, all things considered, was probably a good thing. He still looked tiny, almost dwarfed by the monstrous claws that clung delicately to a magazine page. His head was shaved around the edges, leaving a curly, floppy mop resting on top. Even the shave job looked a little patchy; probably a side effect of wendigo-ing. 

“Hey, Cochise.”

Chris didn’t remember flinging himself on the bed. Didn’t remember violently tackling the other man, arms around his neck so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. Didn’t remember whispering _you’re alive you’re real you’re here_.

Chris was crying and Josh was tentatively laughing. It was a hoarse sound. An awkward sound. 

A sniffle from the doorway made them jump apart. 

Melinda stood there, wiping tears from her face. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, Chris. It’s been a…long road to recovery.”

“Yeah, bro. Now when I freak out I hulk out.” Josh flexed weakly, his eyes tired, so tired. 

“So there’s no…?” _Cure? Reversal?_ Chris adjusted his glasses and moved away from the other man, just barely. He and Josh needed to talk. When Melinda wasn’t there because that would be totally embarrassing.

Melinda shook her head, soft curls dancing across her shoulders. “The shaman tell us that the process is irreversible. That we should count ourselves lucky that Josh is as human as he is because that’s never happened before. They don’t know why he didn’t fully—” she swallowed hard, unable to finish the horrific sentence. 

“Does anyone else know? That you’re alive, I mean.”

Josh shook his head. “I wanted to wait because…” his gaze fell and drifted away. 

“Because what?” Chris’s hand went to Josh’s shoulder, only to change its mind halfway through. 

Josh cast a tentative look at his mom. It was another few seconds before he worked up the breathy courage to answer. “I don’t remember what happened that night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your support this early on. I'm really hoping this will live up to expectations. That being said I want to say that updates will start taking longer as I've fractured a wrist and typing like that isn't easy. In any case I will still do my best to make sure it gets update and hey--maybe the extra time just means a better story ;)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! Enjoy!

Sam whistled as she walked in the door. A light sheen of sweat shone on her skin as she toed off her shoes. Her breathing was deep and fast, but even. A trick she learned when she sometimes accidentally overdid it. 

Sometimes stress called for accidentally overdoing it.

She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. The nightmares were returning. She would swear that every time she turned around there would be a wendigo waiting, just out of sight. She even looked on the ceiling once because she was sure that’s where it disappeared to.

She was overly-tired. Running woke her up. Kept her from sleeping.

The house was eerily quiet. Not that she noticed—her jogging playlist was still firmly entrenched in her ears. It kept her going when she came down. Riding the high as long as she could. 

She did poke her head around a little bit, curious to see if her parents were home. A note on the fridge told her everything she needed to know.

Sam never heard the door click open and shut. 

Her eyes burned and she focused on that feeling instead of the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She needed to remember she wasn’t in danger anymore. Sam would never be able to move on if she couldn’t remember that. 

If the music in her ears wasn’t enough, the running of the faucet certainly didn’t aid anything. She stopped it with a squeak, eager to ease the cracked dryness of her throat. The chilly air outside had such a glorious sting in the moment. But that moment was over now. Time for it to go bye-bye. 

Guzzling a glass of water, she didn’t hear the footsteps padding across the cold tiles.

So when the hand clapped down on her shoulder, Sam understandably shrieked. The glass in her had went flying into the sink (plastic, thankfully, because her father was an absolute klutz). Her earbuds came tumbling away as she turned to take on her assailant, fingers scrabbling desperately for anything to use as a weapon. They came up empty. So she balled her fists and made ready to swing. 

Ashley—smartly—backed up a few steps, pointing and laughing. “I finally got you!”

Frozen mid-swing, Sam’s fist relaxed open. A hand went to her heart as though that would quell the fast-paced race inside. “Jesus, Ashley!” she burst out when the situation finally registered. She had to say her name. Ashley. Not wendigo. Not Hannah. Ashley. No danger. Calm. Calm. Fuzzy kittens.

Calm.

Clapping her hands together, Ashley doubled her laughter, unaware of the internal war raging within the other woman. Ashley, sweet, unaware, totally dense Ashley. “Not such a shit talker now, are you?”

When she felt a little more in control, Sam shook her head, divesting herself of the final vestiges of dark walls, splintered supports, echoing shrieks. “The hell, Ash?”

The brunette pushed past, reaching into the cabinet for her own glass of water. Sam’s eyes tracked her, reflex more than anything. “I’m just getting you back for the bath scare last week.” Her eyes were wide and innocent over the rim of the glass. 

The bath scare…? What—oh. Sam burst in on Ashley after reading a spoiler for her favorite show.

Sam crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell loose from her ponytail and wafted over her face. “Mine was an accident.” Sort of. She definitely meant to burst in dramatically like that. She hadn’t realized Ashley hadn’t heard her running and screaming down the hall because she had headphones in.

Still holding the glass, Ashley pushed off from the counter, mouth still curved into a wicked grin. Gently she captured Sam’s lips, the barest of touches. “So was mine,” she whispered when she pulled away, her eyes gleaming with a wicked promise, and the sincerest of apologies.

Now she was seeing the bags under Sam’s eyes. The worry lines someone of her age shouldn’t have. The tense shoulders.

And Sam saw the way Ashley’s shoulders hunched, how much smaller she made herself appear. Her eyes flickered to the ground. Ashamed. Embarrassed because her night hadn’t been quite as bad as everyone else. 

“You’re terrible,” was all Sam managed. She wasn’t angry. She understood. Her eyes dropped to Ashley’s lips, eager for more, but the other girl was already turning away. Sam settled for watching her rear sway back and forth as she emptied her glass and rinsed it in the sink.

Ashley chuckled, relaxing as she felt Sam’s eyes bore into her backside. “You right. C’mon. We still going to Chris’s?”

“Attempt to, anyway,” Sam rolled her eyes. “I swear to God if he doesn’t answer his door this time I’m busting it down.” Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Sam grimaced. “Let me change real quick.” A hot shower would be too relaxing. She was afraid she would be coaxed into a nap.

She walked down the hall, swinging her hips probably more than necessary. Halfway down, she stripped her shirt off, whistling as she casually swung it around her arm, pretending she wasn’t doing it on purpose. 

She knew another activity that would keep her awake. 

There was the barest of pauses at her bedroom door, glancing back at Ashley who was conveniently looking at everything except her. 

Which was probably a good thing because they had things to do and if Ashley followed that invite, they’d never get them done.

It wasn’t long before Sam returned, wearing a baggy sweater and another set of leggings. She’d taken care of the sweaty façade with a towel in the bathroom. After slipping her shoes back on, she was ready to go. 

“Weeks of nothing…” Sam grumbled as she scrawled a quick note to her parents. That was a big deal now, after…the mountain. Communication. Anyone else would have called it nosy overprotection, but Sam was grateful. Very grateful. “Ash, I’m really worried about him.” _Worried about all of us_.

They took the brunette’s car. “Me too.” She reversed out of the driveway and away they went. Her eyes were focused hard on the road as she drove, even when Sam slipped a hand on her knee. 

“Hey. It’s okay.” 

Well, no, it really wasn’t. None of them were okay, really. But the rest of them were at least making the effort to get on with their lives. To try and realize normalcy.

“I still love him, you know.” She used driving as an excuse not to look at her girlfriend.

A very quiet, deflated ‘I know’ escaped Sam’s lips. 

“I don’t know why he shut me out.”

“He shut all of us out.” Sam said as her hand fell from Ashley’s knee, but the other woman was quick to catch it. She smiled softly and kissed Sam’s knuckles. The blonde giggled. “At least I have you.”

“What more could you want?”

_Things to go back to normal_. But she would never say it aloud. 

Sam missed the afternoons of the pizza shop after school. Late night Mario Kart. The stupidest selfies they could muster. Breakups, hookups. Football games. Bored over-analysis of bad television. Just…normal things. Things everyone else took for granted because they hadn’t been violently ripped away in the span of 12 hours.

But now she had Ashley. Ashley wasn’t Beth and Sam wasn’t Chris, but…together they managed to pass the days with some nuances of normalcy. Ashley had been her rock after they’d been released. So much drama between Matt, Mike, and Emily…they wanted nothing to do with any of that.

It was an accident, of course. That’s how most of these things happened. They spent a lot of time together. Ashley needed someone after her and Chris’s unofficial ‘breakup’ and Sam just needed someone.

There were late nights watching stupid movies. Stupid texts. Random pictures. Smuggling bad beers from their parents. 

Actually, that was how it all started. A beer too much and Ashley slipped on a kiss. She wouldn’t say she stumbled into love, but they sure as hell stumbled into something.

“Here we are.” Ash’s words broke her from drowning thoughts. Chris’s apartment windows were still dark, like so many other times.

His door, however, was wide open when they got there, like someone just busted in, completely unaware of much else. 

“Chris?” Sam peered cautiously through the door, half expecting something to come flying at them from the darkened halls.

No answer. The girls didn’t have to look twice at each other before advancing inside. “Chris? Hello?”

It was musty, they noticed. Stale sweat. How long since he’d opened a damned window?

“Chris?” Ashley tried while Sam did, indeed, open a window. It was cold, sure, but the circulation would do wonders. The brunette wrinkled her nose at a fresh, half-eaten sandwich poised ready to fall off the coffee table.

“The hell?”

Ashley raced to the back—seriously, his apartment had like, one room. His bedroom was a mess of scattered clothes on the floor, comforters and pillows strewn about, video game cases placed in precarious positions, ready to spill their contents at any moment. There were some glasses of water, half-drunk cups of coffee, and plates stacked around. The curtains were shut tight. “Sam, you don’t think—” Ashley’s hands flew to her face and Sam heard the tears begin in her voice.

“No.” Sam cut her off sharply, already digging into her sweater pocket. “Absolutely not.” 

Because that just couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t let it be true.

*

The news hit Chris in the face like a shitton of bricks. All the air catapulted from his lungs and there was a shrill ringing in his ears. That wasn’t tinnitus , was it? He felt his skin shiver, his hands grow clammy. His heart was fit to burst from his chest—seriously, what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

Josh elbowed him in the ribs, a half-assed smile still on his face. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost, Cochise.” His eyes were pleasing, desperate. Cracking through the careful mask kept in place for his mom.

From the doorway, Melinda cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you boys to it. And Chris,” she paused, hand still on the doorknob, “you’re welcome any time.” She was gone, the door gently _snicking_ into place.

“Seriously, bro, what’s up?”

Okay, so…Josh didn’t remember the mental torture he put them through that night in the name of revenge—yeah, alright. Chris could deal with that. It was something he wouldn’t want Josh to remember if he could help it; it wasn’t something his best friend would do, like, ever. That night had been a freak of nature, brought together by the most inconvenient and awful circumstances. With the most inconvenient and awful results.

They learned their lesson and Josh’s mental health remained (mostly) intact. He wasn’t going to be torn up over the guilt of what he did in a moment of weakness. 

The rest of them would get over it.

Mildly hypocritical of him to even think, but whatever.

Except for Mike. He was gonna be one furious fuck nugget. Chris would figure out how to deal with him.

Chris’s best friend was alive. Sitting right in front of him. Looking worse for wear, but alive and that was more than Chris could ask for.

No, as Chris processed and filtered the results from this new rush of data, there was one thing that stuck in the back of his head, like a dog with a friggin’ bone. Something he deserved to ask for. It kept playing on a loop, over and over, stirring up anxiety in Chris’s belly because he _wasn’t supposed to be thinking that_.

He drifted back to Josh’s lips searing his skin. Hands roaming, leaving trails of liquid fire wherever they went. The look in his eye that made Chris come utterly undone.

The hope that maybe the two of them…

And it was taken from him. In the blink of an eye. There wouldn’t be another situation like that: heart-pounding, adrenaline-inducing, life-or-death balls to the wall chaos (at least, he sincerely hoped because Chris really didn’t think he could take much more). 

Chris’s cheeks burned as he thought about it because the logical solution would be to just say it again. He knew that.

But Josh was…different now. Still his best bro, but…

…what if he didn’t feel the same? He had been through so much physically and emotionally. This wasn’t something he needed niggling at him. Not now.

It wouldn’t be just the rejection that would shame Chris and drive him to the nearest, deepest, void. It would be the embarrassment. 

_Chris got rejected by a_ monster. 

_His game so bad even the wendigo don’t wanna play_.

The taunts, the jeers. 

_Are you embarrassed?_

_I could never be embarrassed of you_.

Even now, looking at the hot mess of his best friend: nasty teeth, death-like skin, claws instead of hands and feet…Chris couldn’t care less. His eyes still looked upon Josh like the light of his goddamn life and that’s precisely what he was.

“Earth to Chris!” A clawed hand was waving in front of his face, startling the blonde away from violently spiraling self-deprecation. “Seriously, dude. What’s eatin’ ya?” Josh grinned and bared his fangs, Chris’s eye traced the long, sharp edges, wondering what they would feel like. 

“Y-you don’t remember…anything?” he finally choked. Oh, yeah. That’s that they were discussing when he…wandered off.

Josh frowned, only half his teeth covered by his dark, plush lips. “I…remember being in a really dark place.” Josh sat up a little straighter, bringing his knees to his chest, leaning against the wall behind him. “I was alone and there was nothing but fear. “I-I think Hannah and Beth were there, but…” he trailed off, voice low, resting his chin on his knees. “And now I’m—” A choked sob was all Chris heard as Josh buried his face in his arms.

Chris was at his side immediately. “Hey. Hey.” Gently, slowly, so he didn’t startle the wendigo half, he put his arms around Josh. He was coaxing him into his chest, whispering soothing words. Comforting words. What was he even saying? “You’re still the same person. You’re still Josh.”

This was familiar territory, too. Almost natural the way Josh sunk into him.

“I-I’m not, Chris. I’m not.” A tiny sniffle. The material of his shirt was starting to get wet. “I feel like there’s a caged beast locked away somewhere just waiting to be let out. I-I did…horrible things…while I was in the hospital.” His grip on Chris’s arm was painful, pads of his fingers sinking hard into the skin. The cold feeling of his nails grazed him every now and again, a terrifying reminder of…of…

No. He didn’t matter right now.

“At the…? What? Dude—” He didn’t want Josh to relive it. But it had to come out. How long since Josh had been able to talk to someone he trusted?

True to his thoughts, it was like the flood gates were open and all of Loch Ness was pouring out. “I—I almost killed someone. They were…fuck, I don’t even know what they were doing, but a restraint came loose and I—” He buried his head farther into Chris’s shoulder. “I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was trapped in my own head and….”

“Jeez, dude,” he mumbled. Was there an appropriate response to something like that? “You overcame it, though. That’s what matters. You overcame it and now you’re here. It happens, man. Shit goes down that we can’t control. We’re—” _Only human_. But they weren’t. Not anymore. “We’ve all been through a lot. Stress on the brain does weird things to the body.”

Josh sniffled, sound muffled. “They were gonna off me, yanno.” Chris tensed. Josh could hear his heart racing and smell his blood pumping. “The day before, one of the doctors figured out a way to ground my human side.” He snorted derisively.

He wanted to ask—what’s your ground? Chris figured it was probably his sisters, but a selfish part of him hoped that maybe he was Josh’s anchor in the storm, like Josh was his.

He didn’t ask. He couldn’t. It was one thing to speculate on an answer, but something different when it was spoken aloud. Real. 

Final.

“You know what makes all this shit worse?”

_A few things_. “Hm?”

“I’m so fuckin’ _hungry_ , man. Like, all the time. It doesn’t matter how much I eat.” Chris’s arm tightened reflexively around Josh’s waist, the waist that still felt twenty pounds too light. Josh was pressing into him harder, closer. His breath was dancing along Chris’s skin, taking cue from the goose bumps that followed. Chris froze as he felt the barest of touches against his throat, sharp, prickly, tracing around to his jugular, digging, _begging_ … “Nothing satisfies me.” Josh’s voice was almost a hoarse croak, low and sultry right in Chris’s ear.

Was that a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck? His face was flush, heart racing. The scars on his face throbbed, a deadly reminder. 

The dick in his pants throbbed too, a painful reminder. 

And Chris could only hold on tighter, wondering if he was losing his grip on reality. Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard cruel, shrieking laughter.

“Chris?” Josh’s voice was back to normal, though his face was still buried in Chris’s shoulder.

Had he imagined everything? “Hm?” He didn’t trust his voice to work. His throat still tingled from the lingering feeling of monstrous teeth mapping it out.

“How’d you get those scars?” A knuckle brushed against his temple, so soft, so warm. Chris actually shuddered.

_You nearly clawed my face off, you dick_. “A-a bear. I-I think. I dunno, really. The whole night was a blur.” For fucks sake, why couldn’t Josh remember? Not only were things super-awkward right now, but this was _really_ fucking painful. How do you tell your best friend he tried to rip your face off? 

Josh was smart. There was no doubt about it. Chris was waiting to be called out on his bullshit because Josh was _so close_ to tracing those lines with his hardened nails. Like Cinderella’s glass slipper, they would be an exact fit.

But Josh didn’t say anything. He just settled back into Chris’s grasp, content. 

Chris didn’t remember falling asleep.

*

Josh had him pinned to the bed, long lanky thighs trapping his legs tight beneath him. One clawed hand held his wrists hostage. Just one hand had the strength to keep him from moving anywhere. And he tried.

“You like that, Cochise?” Though he couldn’t see him, he could feel the hot breath dancing across his ear. Josh’s free hand came to rest on his throat, nails poised just above the skin. 

Chris whined. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified.

He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t immensely turned on. 

There was no way Josh couldn’t feel how hard he was. The way he moved, twisted…

…jerked Chris’s head back by his hair. A guttural moan escaped his lips when he realized he couldn’t move without pressing those sharp-as-razors claws into his scalp. He ached as Josh dragged his teeth down Chris’s neck, tongue laving back up to soothe the scratches. 

Was that noise coming from him?

Chris’s head was foggy, sensations overloading every cognitive function required to live. He let his body relax, loving the way those teeth sank into his flesh…

…and then Josh was tearing him apart, screaming, eyes milky white. His skin was pale as death, mottled. He heard his name on the tip of that wendigo tongue, over and over again like that was supposed to make it any better. It became a taunt, laughing at him for thinking they could even try.

“Cochise!” 

Chris startled awake—when did he fall asleep?—arms flailing to keep his attackers at bay. It was only when his wrists were caught and seized did his breath catch and his brain spark with fear (arousal). He ripped his hands away and scrambled on his hands and knees, heaving, because he had to get away. He had to try and live. 

Someone had to save Josh.

His face met the floor in a very uncharacteristic manner. Thankfully there was the distinct absence of his glasses breaking against the bridge of his nose. 

The thud was enough to bring him back to reality. 

He was in a room, not the mines. Though the pictures on the posters were too blurry to make out from where he was sitting, the placement was familiar. 

“Chris?” the voice was soft, concerned.

Turning, Chris saw Josh’s face peering at him from the edge of his bed. The piercing green gaze ( _you like that, Cochise?_ ) made him realize he was still half-hard. Josh’s teeth were well visible and suddenly he wasn’t just sitting at half-mast anymore.

Were wendigo like bears—or was it dogs? Could they smell fear or…other things?

Hovering above Josh, clinging to the wall, was Hannah’s wendigo. Her mouth was spread wide as she leered, poised to strike. Chris watched in slow motion as she launched herself from the wall directly at him. 

Air wheezed from his lungs and he threw his arms up to try and block most of the attack. 

But it never came. She seemed to phase right through him.

Josh, however, did materialize in front of him. His brow was furrowed and he was trying to close the gap over his teeth to no avail. But he was hugging Chris, holding Chris, telling him it was okay. “I’m here, bro, I got you. Sh, sh.”

Chris nearly laughed at the irony. He was never the one that needed comforting. He was the rock, the immobile mountain, and here he was gulping down air like a fish out of water. 

He tried to remember all the things he always told Josh. How to breathe, what to focus on. Right now he was focusing on Josh’s voice.

But Josh wasn’t supposed to be there. Josh was dead. Josh was burned alive, taken from his grasp forcibly by a man in uniform. Ghosts, that’s what he was hearing. Nothing but a goddamn ghost. 

“Come back to me, Cochise.” His hands were rubbing circles all over Chris’s back, his speech a little slurred from sleep. “C’mon. You here, man? You with me?”

And there it was. Josh was here. He was real. Sure, still a wendigo, but he was there. Slowly, Chris starting relaxing.

Somewhere in the background the theme from Skyrim started playing. Spell broken, Josh pulled away and fished around in Chris’s sweatshirt pocket. 

_Douche Nugget_ flashed on the caller ID. Josh raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Mike,” Chris groaned. This wasn’t what he needed. Where were his glasses?

Josh frowned and promptly handed it back. Shaking slightly, Chris answered.

And promptly pulled the phone away from his ear. The garbled shout that emitted from the receiver even made Josh jump. He skittered away. A funny noise escaped. Thankfully Chris was too focused on being chewed out to notice.

“Try again without—yeah, no—wait, what? No. No I’m—” he glanced at Josh, asking silent permission. Josh just sort of shrugged, leaving the decision to Chris. “—I’m at Josh’s. Um, no? Why were they there—oh. Yeah. Yeah. I can be there—” another glance at Josh, who was now shuffling around his room. He took a deep breath. “Be there soon.” And he promptly hung up. 

Carding a hand through his hair, Chris stood. “Do you—do you wanna come with me? And see? Them, I mean.”

Josh pushed his glasses into his hands (when did he lose these?), then turned away, hugging himself tight. 

He did. He so desperately did because while Chris may not realize it, Josh sure as hell did. 

Chris still hadn’t told him what the hell happened on the mountain. He was avoiding the question. His eyes darted away and he started that not-so-subtle stutter. Josh could read Chris as well as he could be read. If that weren’t enough, he could smell the fear radiating.

Josh wanted to know what he was trying to hide.

Kind of. 

A part of him didn’t want to know because Chris was hesitant to tell him. 

“Nah, bro. I’m not…” he sighed, “I’m not ready. Yet.” He turned and gave Chris a false smile. “Do you…wanna…um.” There he went again, self-doubts and anxiety running amok. God he looked like a fucking idiot. Why was he acting like a dumbass teen on a first date? Oh, yeah. Because he was still a monster. _He just napped with you_.

“I’ll pick up a pizza before I come back.” Leave it to Cochise to know exactly that he was thinking. “You can still eat pizza, right?”

Josh laughed. Actually laughed. How long had it been since he’d done that? “Yeah, bro. Messy as hell, but it gets the job done. I’m still not used to—”

“I gotcha. I’ll make sure to cut it up into tiny pieces for you,” and then he winked. He fucking winked. 

Even with the implications, Josh’s heart melted right out of his chest. “Just make sure those pieces have all the pepperoni.”

Chris smiled, looking like some kind of overly cute puppy dog. Josh saw the wheels turning in his head and steeled himself for the awful joke before it was delivered. “Don’t worry, bro. I…” fuck, here it came, “…wendi-gotcha.” 

Jesus Christ, he even did the finger guns. 

“Get the fuck outta my house dude. And don’t come back without appropriate reparations for that one.” Josh shooed him out of his room. The sooner he left, the sooner he would come back, right? And Josh’s stomach rumbled. Pizza. Yeah, pizza sounded fantastic.

“Oh, come on. That was good.” Chris was still grinning. He twitched, like he was holding back from doing something. “I shouldn’t be too long. Call me if…if you need anything, okay?” 

Something silent passed between them. Josh nodded, resisting the urge to bite his lip. His eyes lingered on the scars on Chris’s face. 

Chris hesitated a moment longer, and then was off.

Josh turned away and sat at his desk, shoving his sketchpad to the side. His long-ass claws dug into wood. Tight. Tense. He was so tense. This wasn’t good.

Why was he afraid?

_He’s not coming back_. 

His sisters whispered harshly in the back of his mind. 

He remembered more than he let on. He remembered the kiss—how could he forget that? Chris’s warm, inviting lips. The way they felt, pressed together, like everything was finally alright in the universe. Like Josh was finally alright. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more and…

…and now he was a monster. 

Dark, feminine laughter in the background.

He didn’t have a mirror to look at because his first day home he smashed it. Not for any other purpose than so he didn’t have to look at himself. 

His fingers dug deeper, splintering the wood now.

He was hoping that Chris…maybe Chris would still feel the same. They’d seen some real shit together and still…Chris…

_A lot gay, bro_.

Chris had seen him at his worst. And he still made Josh believe that he was valued, appreciated. Why else would he be the one to constantly be there when Josh needed him, without complaint, without ever _asking_ for anything? 

Everyone thought Josh was some kind of selfish prick, always taking, always needy…never giving back. Christ, he didn’t know _how_ to give back. What could he do for the one person that sacrificed so much of his life for him? 

Material things didn’t matter to Chris, that he knew. Well, maybe beyond the latest phone and gaming system, but that was to be expected. 

What could he do?

Love him?

Josh was barely holding onto the love for himself. 

The sun hit his face and he squinted, hissing, and yanked the curtains closed. He yanked too hard. The entire rod came crashing down, tangling him deep within.

The sun. The sun was so fucking bright. It hurt. 

Josh screamed, a high-pitched shriek that was all-too-familiar. He slashed at the curtains and sent the rod flying through the window. He ripped into the desk, tearing apart drawers, embedding splinters deeply into the walls.

He was hungry. So hungry. 

He launched himself to the ceiling, carving trenches before leaping to his bed, shrieking, bloodlust making the saliva drip from his teeth, flying with every violent shake of his head.

And then a smell hit him. Overpowering him so hard he stopped like he hit a glass window.

He buried his face in the comforter, sniffing loudly, like a dog.

Familiar.

Safe.

_Bro, the fuck you doing?_

Josh turned his head, startled, but there was no one at the door. Just the ghost of an echo, powerful, overcoming the others. 

_This isn’t you, bro. Chill out for a sec, huh?_

Josh exhaled heavily. A snort, really. 

_That’s it. Tell it to wendigo fuck itself._

The snorts turned into bubbled laughter that turned into sobs. Hysterics, probably. Josh hid them in his blankets, letting the scent comfort him. 

He was okay. Chris would come back. He’d never let Josh down. 

Finally he roused himself, brain finally free of fog. Snuffing, shaking, he rooted around on his bed for a moment. His hands closed around his phone. 

His day was certainly not going as planned. Josh stared hard at the broken window, waiting for the spots in front of his vision to disappear. That made him angry. 

He picked it up. It was a slow-dial, but a number he knew very well. 

It wasn’t long before he answered. “If this is some kind of joke—” 

Apparently he still had Josh’s phone number stored. Cool. “Hey, Mike. Question.” His voice was raspy, he knew. Shaken, not stirred in the aftermath. Choked and slurred by the teeth, but it was still his voice and still very recognizable. 

There was nothing but a stunned silence on the other end. Not even a breath. 

Josh chuckled. Any other time this would have been hilarious. Not today. No, today he was steeling his heart for something he was positive he wasn’t prepared for. 

“What happened that night?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find my shitposting Tumblr: bluespartan114


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